


Slippery when wet

by n_nami



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Cheating, Like teenagers, M/M, Making Out, PWP, Polyamory, drunken make-out sessions on the couch, themes of cheating in a relationship, who are secretly in love with each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:48:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27616487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/n_nami/pseuds/n_nami
Summary: It seems like no matter what they do, they always end up - like this.
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Misha Collins
Comments: 18
Kudos: 129





	Slippery when wet

**Author's Note:**

> For the Cockles dumpster, you know who you are. (And thanks to Ellen for betaing!)

The first time it happens, it's a complete, honest to god, accident.

At least that's what Jensen tells himself the morning after they go out to the bar down the street from Jared's apartment. It's not even a special day or a special occasion, just a weekend like a million before that. It's Saturday, they have a few drinks, joke, laugh, roast each others' latest performances, take stupid pictures that no one ever gets to see, and go home at 4 a.m.

Jensen has started typing into his phone at least three times but deleted every possible approach to the whole fiasco so far.

He still sees him, standing in the doorway.

Jared had excused himself to the bathroom, Jensen already dropped his pants right then and there in the living room to curl up under that fluffy blanket he loves. Jared's couch is a tad too short for him, so he had his head on the surprisingly comfortable arm rest, just like he does now.

The sun is too bright and Jensen's head throbs with a headache, his mouth feels like parchment and like something died in there. He stares at the ceiling, tries to think about what had gone through his head.

Embarrassingly enough, nothing. He was so tired, and drunk, as were Jared and Misha.

He looks at the doorway again and his stomach churns.

Misha stood right there, watched him strip and lie down with a lopsided smile, and they both knew that last beer was one too many. After a bottle of water and a short walk in brisk, early morning air, they both sobered some, but neither of them could drive, not by a long shot.

Misha had grinned, his hair disheveled, his open jacket askew. Jensen knows the smell of it, knows how worn leather and Misha's cologne and fruity cocktails mix together too well.

“Good night, Jensen,” Misha had said, waving towards the door. He's messy when drunk – the slightest notion can send him into a ten minute lecture about politics, or Dean being a dick to Cas, or the socioeconomic problems of Guatemala. In reality, hearing him ramble is kind of cute and Jensen is reminded time and time again what a smart cookie Misha really is.

“Are you listening to me, Jay?” he'd say after five minutes.

And Jensen would rest his hand in his chin, solely focused on Misha, and sip from his drink of choice with a shit-eating grin.

Misha would punch his shoulder or poke his ribs or tickle him, and when Jensen has stopped laughing and squirming away, they'd end up too close, but neither of them really cared. The only way to avoid this was throwing his arm around Misha's shoulders or the back of his chair, so he knew he had Jensen's attention.

Even though Jared was the one to fall into a discussion, in the end, Jensen's attention was vital to Misha's drunk rants, and Jensen smiles as he remembers last night’s ramble – about China and the Dalai Lama.

When they had left the packed bar, Misha had grabbed his hand so they could weave through the people without getting separated. Seeing as each of them and Jared in particular stand a head taller than almost everyone, it was kind of unnecessary, but it's also part of what Misha does when drunk. Grab Jensen's hand, pull him towards the bathroom, towards the bar to get another round, rest his hand at the small of Jensen's back.

Jensen's retaliation, most days, is grabbing Misha's wallet from his back pocket and paying with his money. Sometimes, he lets his hand stay right there, only because he can.

Yesterday wasn't any different. It was just a regular Saturday, ending like always. Jensen crashing at Jared's, Misha taking a cab or walking the two blocks to his place. Jensen is further out from where they live. It only makes sense, what with Jensen taking up all the space on the only couch.

“Night, Mish,” he'd mumbled back with a soft smile.

Misha obviously gave himself a start, pushing off the doorway and--

Jensen's heart beats too loud, just remembering it. That he's still here, lying in the exact same place, doesn't help him process.

And Misha had leaned down and planted one on him.

Square on the lips.

Smack, soft, a bit wet.

And Jensen's insides went to mush. Go to mush again just thinking about it.

He kissed Misha. Or, Misha kissed him. Whatever, semantics.

Misha is online.

 _We can't do this again,_ is what Jensen ends up texting. Without thinking about it, he hits 'send'.

 **...** Misha replies instantly.

_I'm married._

**So?** Misha says, and Jensen does something he has never done before – he deletes the message. His conversation with Misha goes back years and years of filming and conventions and friendship. Never had he ever deleted a text of his, no matter how stupid or out of context it was.

_I know, but. We just can't. I can't. That was dumb._

**We were drunk.**

_That can't be an excuse. It's never an excuse._

**True. But ok.**

_Please, let's never talk about this again,_ Jensen says.

He can only imagine the sour expression on Misha's face. Misha probably doesn't think it's that big of a deal, a drunk kiss between friends - but hell, Jensen's wife wasn't the one who wrote a book on threesomes. They're not like that. It's not like that, even though Danneel doesn't do jealous, like, at all. Which is 80% amusing to Jensen and 20% worrying. Maybe it's part of living long distance for most of the year.

Still, he won't tell Misha that it was just a drunk slip-up and it meant nothing, because that would also be mean. Also maybe not the complete truth.

He won't cheat on Danneel, for fuck's sake.

Even if it's up for debate if a stupid little peck between friends is cheating. If Danneel had seen them, he'd probably would never hear the end of it – of how cute and sweet it was and since it's Misha—

Jensen refuses to finish that thought, because his stomach churns again – this time, from the alcohol. He needs to get up and eat something.

It didn't mean anything.

***

Jensen still tells himself that, when they're out at after a long day of convention panels in Austin. Hometown con for Jared. They're two and a half drinks into the evening, so Jensen feels the right kind of buzzed and mellow. Jared throws his head back with a full-belly laugh at something Misha said, dwarfing Gen with his arm slung around her, and Misha's knee is leaning against Jensen's under the table.

The whiskey sour sloshes around in his glass when he gives it a twirl before emptying it, and Misha's hand is at his knee when he teases, “We're not at a wine tasting, Jay.”

Jensen levels him with a nonplussed look. “I know, or else I wouldn't have been swallowing instead of spitting, right?”

Misha snorts, the adorable kind with a scrunched nose and crinkles around his eyes. Their eyes meet over the short distance, and Jensen can't help but feel like Misha is looking for something. His pupils are flitting between his eyes and mouth and after a few seconds, Jensen can't quite stand it any more and looks away.

They've always been handsy when drunk. It's part of why Rome always blows up the way it does.

Misha sips his fruity umbrella-something-shake and eyes Jensen across the rim of the glass. “This isn't half as bad as it looks. You wanna taste?”

Jensen shrugs, and takes a sip right out of Misha's straw. It's a good thing Gen and Jared talk quietly among themselves and Jared doesn't notice.

The drink tastes like Maracuja, lime, brown sugar and too much Tequila. “Woah,” Jensen chuckles, pushing it back into Misha's hands. “That's got some punch I did not expect.”

Jared gets a round of even more Tequila for all of them and Jensen watches, transfixed, as Misha licks salt from his wrist, tongue flat against his skin, downs the shot with a bobbing Adam's apple and bites into the lime, wincing as the shot goes down.

It ends up with him accidentally salting his lime and then deciding to fuck it, and just downing the shot as it is. He hates pure lime, and prefers the brown Tequila with an orange. Misha laughs under his breath, having noted that Jensen is kind of flustered.

Blue eyes are focused on him, and Jensen feels heat pool in his neck. “I'mma hit the head,” he excuses himself with a wave towards the bathroom.

"You're not going to puke, are you?” Misha asks as he gets up, balancing himself on the step to the booth with one hand on the table and one at Jensen's hip as he passes him.

"Nah,” Jensen says and slaps Misha's ass, just a bit of retaliation for the jab. As if he wouldn't be able to hold his liquor.

It's still early, and the bar has a dance floor in another room. Usually, that's where most people gather, and the bar is only a place for later, when legs get tired and drinks have been one too many.

Jensen only notices that Misha has followed him when he exits one of the stalls – he likes his privacy, thank you - and sees him standing at one of the urinals with his pants open.

Here, the beat of the music is dulled and a little softer, and the alcohol in his system makes Jensen lean into Misha when they end up next to each other at the washing basins. The bathroom is also small and empty, safe for them.

Their eyes meet in the mirror.

Jensen remembers their kiss, a few weeks ago. Why that happened, he has no idea, but it happened and it felt good and it's not like he loves Danneel any less because of it. Looking at the smirk on Misha's lips now, he kind of can see where he's been coming from. It's a nice set of lips, not that he didn't know that before.

"What? Do I have something on my face?” Misha asks, leaning across him to the soap dispenser.

"Why did you—” Jensen starts, breaks off. Shakes his head and looks down at his shoes.

Misha eyes him carefully. “I thought we wouldn't talk about it.”

"Ah, yes. Right. We don't. Let's get another drink,” Jensen turns on his heel and flees.

He can still hear the exasperated sigh from Misha and wonders.

The bar itself is busy, two bartenders in constant demand, and after checking with Gen and Jared, they decide to head to the other end of it, where there's another bartender (who supposedly mixes stronger drinks, as Misha concluded from his tequila sunrise).

Pressed against each other from shoulder to shoulder, Jensen looks over to find Misha staring straight ahead, trying to get the bartender's attention. When they are ignored for a solid five minutes, Misha grabs Jensen's hand under the bar and tugs him a few feet down, more in line of sight. So far, so usual.

He doesn't let go of Jensen's hand after, and it's dark and there's people directly at a small table behind them, so no one sees what's going on there.

Jensen feels like a teenager holding hands in the school hallway and doesn't even question it. It always feels like this.

Misha meets his gaze from the corner of his eye and grins a sheepish grin that does _things_ to Jensen. Again, he finds himself wondering about those lips.

A few tries later, they have their drinks.

When they return to their booth, it's Jared and Gen who excuse themselves to the bathroom, since they wouldn't leave their seats unattended.

They take a sip from their drinks, nodding when the taste kicks in, and Jensen likes a margarita as much as the next guy, but he's not prepared for when Misha leans over, into his space, and drinks from his straw.

The appreciative hum is low in Misha's throat and Jensen wonders since when he notices these things.

One second, Misha is in his space, Jensen's arm on the backrest behind him, the other second, he can see that in their dark corner of the bar, they are out of everyone's focus, and Jared and Gen are nowhere to be seen.

Misha is too close, his lips are too tempting and slightly chapped when they close what little gap there is.

This time, Jensen memorizes it. Every twitch of Misha's lips, every move of his head tilting to the side, deepening the kiss, the tip of his tongue meeting Jensen's as he pliantly opens up.

Misha tastes like lime and tequila and temptation.

It's over within seconds, and their heads whip around immediately after, but no one pays them any attention.

"Uhm,” Misha says.

"Yeah, we probably shouldn't,” Jensen clears his throat.

Their foreheads meet and Jensen feels Misha's hot breath on his lips. He's not sure who initiates it this time, but before he can do anything, they're kissing again. Misha's hand is at his waist, his pinky under the hem of Jensen's shirt. Jensen is very aware of that skin to skin contact.

When they break apart, Misha doesn't look at him, but his throat is working, his jaw is clenching and Jensen has the acute urge to lick up his neck to his ear lobe.

Danneel, he loves Danneel.

And he just kissed someone else again and it was good.

Before he can freak out, Misha's hand trails upwards under his shirt, tickling him. Jensen can't help but chuckle, and Misha has his hand around his neck as he pulls down Jensen's ear to his lips. “Don't freak out. It's just us, alright?”

Jensen nods, swallowing around the lump in his throat, and rests his forehead on Misha's shoulder for a second.

Jared returns, then, and doesn't even comment on them essentially snuggling up with each other. “Gen is still waiting in line. Sucks being a chick.”

And just like that, it's another regular Saturday again.

That night, Jensen finds himself drawn to Misha's lips, again and again, but he can't and he shouldn't, but he kind of wants to and it doesn't so much freak him out as it makes him nervous. Mostly because they don't get another chance at it.

It feels wrong to look out for chances to kiss one of your married best friends. But kissing Misha feels too right.

***

Third time's the charm, apparently, when a couple weeks later, they stumble into Jensen's apartment in Vancouver, at 5:30 in the morning.

Jared yawns, stumbles down the hallway as he slips out of his jacket and faceplants into Jensen's bed without a second thought or even unlacing his shoes.

Snoring is the only thing they hear from him. Jensen snorts, then goes to get his shoes off, at least.

"To think that we'd need a night club to tire him out,” Misha shrugs as he heads towards the fridge, retrieving two bottles of water and downing one then and there.

His Adam's apple bops up and down, right there on display, and Jensen _wants._

He still hasn't confessed to Danneel what happened. She'd probably find it hilarious and a bit sweet.

Jensen laughs, trying to cover his nerves. “He gon' sleep like a baby,” he mumbles.

Blue eyes focused on him, unblinking. “I don't think I can crash, yet.”

"Too wound up?” Jensen nods and Misha mirrors him, and there's the chance, and there are his nerves, and Jensen balks. “Yeah. C'mon, let's just—” He gestures at the living room, then leads the way.

They sink into the couch next to each other, and Jensen figures since it's his place, he might as well, and drapes his feet over Misha's lap. Misha 'oof's under his breath, but smiles as Jensen starts some music videos on the TV for background noise. Music videos turn into comedy, turn into 'Barbie – Living in a Dream House', which has them both reeling with laughter. Whoever uploaded these videos clearly made Jensen's night. It's entertaining in a so-bad-it's-good way.

Misha's dimpled grin is soft when he turns it towards Jensen, hands trailing up and down his shins. Jensen heaves himself up, one hand on the backrest, the other behind him, as he curls one leg under himself.

Impossibly, that move makes them sit even closer. The stubble on Misha's cheeks makes him wonder how he didn't notice it during their previous... incidents. Chastising himself, he turns back towards the TV, where Ken just made a ridiculous joke that kids wouldn't understand.

From the corner of his eyes, he sees Misha lick his lips, and heat flares up in the pit of his stomach.

He thinks about Danneel. Cute, hot, adorable Danneel and the way she's soft in all the places Misha isn't, delicate and narrow where Misha is all broad shoulders and burly muscle and why does he even think about this.

Jensen looks at the lopsided smirk on Misha's lips and the mirth in his eyes. Thinks about Misha and Danneel laughing together over a glass of wine, thinks about them eating hot peppers and chugging water afterwards and regretting it both and – well, Jensen begrudgingly admits to himself that he maybe has a type.

"What?” Misha smiles, during a lull of conversation on the TV.

"Nothing,” Jensen replies and sits up straighter.

Somehow, Misha's hand finds his hip, and everything about this is amplified. Maybe it's the alcohol, maybe it's the fact that Jared snores from across the hall, maybe it's just Misha being Misha.

But Jensen feels Misha's fingertips zipping over his stomach, back to his waist, under his shirt, and he takes a deep breath. The urge is there, has been sitting right under his skin all evening.

Misha tugs and Jensen gives. It's easy, unwinding from their pretzel-like position on the couch with limbs everywhere, to sitting in Misha's lap. A huff, a smile, pupils blown wide, the blue still radiating at Jensen.

Want curls into a resounding 'fuck it' in the back of Jensen's head, and he trails his hands up Misha's neck, fingers threading through the strands at the back of his head. Lips find each other's on instinct, and the kiss is messy and sloppy and perfect. Also, yes, there's stubble rubbing against Jensen's cheek and it doesn't bother him at all, which is a surprise.

One of Misha's hands is at his neck, pulling him down, the other still under his shirt, at the base of his spine.

Do best friends do this?

Jensen shoves the thought down, down, down, but it resurfaces again and again.

Between kisses, they come up for air, and Jensen doesn't open his eyes when he asks, “What are we doing,” without an inflection at the end, just getting it out there.

“You tell me,” Misha rasps, voice hoarse from shouting over music all evening, yet nothing like Cas'.

Jensen regrets having said anything and goes back to kissing him. He does not want to think about this, it feels too good to second-guess themselves.

Their tongues have just started to make contact when Jared startles awake in the bedroom. Jerking upright, Jensen throws his head around. Misha leans back, eyes closed and chest heaving. _Gorgeous,_ zips through Jensen's mind.

But Jared only turns around, legs still hanging off the bed, and resumes snoring.

Misha's hands trail around his midriff, fingers hooking into the belt loops of his jeans. His eyes are molten with desire when Jensen turns back to him, picks his words with care. “Why does this always happen when we're drunk?”

"Because,” Jensen shrugs, leaning down, burying his nose in Misha's neck. Sweat and whiskey and coke and _Misha_. His lips find Misha's pulse point, and Jensen just takes a second to enjoy that he gets to do this. “It happens because we're drunk.”

"You wouldn't do this when sober?”

"Too chicken-shit. Maybe. Also, there's Dee.”

"I'm sure if you'd talk to her—”

Jensen cuts him off with a kiss. He doesn't want to talk about why he needs the liquid courage. He only knows this feels good and exciting and—he wants it.

Misha's palms spread out, fingers still in his belt loops as he pulls Jensen forward against his crotch.

There's no denying what's going on here. Jensen is hard as a rock and he feels Misha's bulge, unmistakably, against himself.

"Fuck, Mish,” he groans into Misha's mouth.

"Just so you know what this is doing to me,” Misha smirks.

"We shouldn't—”

A sigh. “You do know what polyamory is, right?”

Jensen blinks at him and behind him, Barbie started a song out of nowhere. His sight is a bit blurry, and he's acutely reminded that they're probably not the right state of mind to discuss what this means not only for his, but also Misha's marriage. He opens his mouth, only to be interrupted by Misha.

"Don't tell me we'll talk about it tomorrow, because we both know we won't. If you need the liquid courage, now's the time.”

"Mish, I. Don't make me. I don't want to cheat on Dee. I don't know why it keeps happening, whenever—you're there and we—being drunk is an explanation, but never an excuse and I guess I need to work on my self control.”

Weary eyes take him in from head to toe, and Jensen can practically hear the thoughts rattling around in Misha's brain. That he's able to choose his words despite being as drunk as they both are is admirable, Jensen guesses.

In the end, Misha runs his hand down Jensen's thighs and back up. “Matter of fact, there's something here. Some fascination, attraction, whatever you want to call it.” And this time, Misha sits up straighter, leans in to kiss Jensen's collarbone.

Jensen shudders. “Yeah,” he can admit to that.

For a moment, their eyes lock, and neither says anything.

Jensen's heart is in his throat, beating too fast, his stomach in knots, curling with heat, his cock, still trapped in the confines of his jeans, pressed against Misha's.

"Talk to Dee,” Misha says, low, eyes hooded.

"I dunno if she'd understand.”

"I have faith,” Misha says. “Because this—” and he rolls his hips up into Jensen's, and the movement is so sudden and so well-placed and so hot that Jensen nearly comes in his pants like a teenager, “—this makes me curious.”

"Mh,” Jensen hums, then leans down to rest his forehead against Misha's shoulder, the way he's done countless times in the last years. “Fuck.”

"Nah, I'd really like to do that sober,” Misha tilts his head against Jensen's, the way he's done countless times, too.

Jensen can't help but laugh. He scoots back a bit, to get some distance between them. “We should go to bed. Separately.”

"Who gets the couch and who shares the bed with Jay-rod?”

"Rock-Paper-Scissors?”

Jensen throws rock, Misha paper.

"Wait, what are we playing for? The couch that's too short for either of us or the bed that... well, that Jared already takes up on his own?”

"The bed, I guess,” Jensen shrugs. “Alright, I'll take the couch.”

He pries himself off Misha's lap with ten shades of regret swirling in his head and goes to wash up and change. When he returns, Misha found himself a blanket and is already half-asleep on the couch.

"Good night, Mish,” Jensen whispers and goes over to him.

"Night, Jay,” Misha whispers back.

Jensen leans down and kisses him, short but sweet. “I should—”

"Go.”

Misha's lips are warm and soft and too kissable, and Jensen is well and truly fucked.

**THE END**


End file.
